


Comfort in Your Arms

by SanityisOverrated



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt, M/M, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:42:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanityisOverrated/pseuds/SanityisOverrated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets hurt and Sherlock shows that he really does care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort in Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Filled for nefherms on tumblr, who requested 'Rain, food, paint.' Hope I did it justice! I know, it's a really roundabout way of filling something, but... that's me brain.  
> Enjoy!

  
  


“I’m alright.” Was the first thing John said. Normally, it was the other way around. Sherlock attempting to placate John before he’s even been told what’s happened. So after it’s happened and he sees multiple calls and texts missed, he knows he should inform his lover of what’s happened. To a degree.

“What happened?” Sherlock demanded curtly. John sighed internally. Today was just going to be one of those days.

“It’s raining, the road was wet, and the taxi slid. You know how it is after a bit without rain, roads slippery as hell. No one was at fault, don’t even think of tracking them down or I’ll make you sleep on the couch for a month. I’m just getting checked at A&E and then I’ll be home. Did you want anything to eat?”

“How can you be thinking of food?” Sherlock spat.

“Because I said I’m fine.” John returned calmly.

“No, I don’t want food. Food is boring.” Sherlock growled. John rolled his eyes, already thinking of what he could get that might entice Sherlock.

“Alright, I’ll be home in a few.” John told him as the doctor approached. He let the phone fall from his ear, disregarding Sherlocks attempts to keep him on.

“Mr. Watson?”

“Yes, that’s me.” John shook hands, and then realized that he was still holding the phone. He closed it with a snap.

“You should be able to go home. You might have a slight concussion, but given your history, I feel it’s alright to let you go. Doubtless you already know what I’m going to tell you, so I won’t bore you, but someone should be with you tonight.”  
“Yes, there will be, my flatmate never sleeps.” John mentioned with a roll of his eyes.

The doctor smiled with amusement. “Alright then. I’ll send a nurse in with your papers. Be sure to go see your regular doctor soon.”

“I will. Thanks.” John returned, waiting until the doctor was out of the room before hopping down from the bed and grabbing his jeans. He swayed dangerously and grabbed the bed with a grimace. This might be worse than he thought. He sighed and got dressed before hearing a nurse come in and looked up when she stepped forward with the papers.

“Alright there, Dr. Watson?” She asked as he wavered while leaning forward to  grab a pen.

“Just fine. Just need some pain killers and sleep.” John said weakly. It was true, but he also wanted to see Sherlock. He knew the man was going to be in one of his moods, but as long as John kept in mind that it just meant Sherlock was concerned about him, he could get through it.

Within minutes he was on his way, hailing a taxi and getting inside with a grateful sigh. He looked a sight, scraped up on his face with a bruise from where he had jerked forward and hit the seat ahead of him.

“Alright there, mate?” the taxi driver asked.

“Yeah, I will be.” He replied wearily. “221B Baker Street, please.” John tuned out after that, mindlessly watching the streets pass him by.

“Sir? Sir, we’ve arrived.”

John jolted out of his reverie with a start. “Oh, sorry about that. Here you go.” He gave the fare and climbed out with a groan. He shuffled to the door and reached out, cursing silently when his vision wavered for a second. He managed to get the door open, shut it, and get halfway up the stairs before spots dotted his vision and he thought it would be best to sit down before he fell down.

He put his head between his knees and breathed, thinking how nice it would be to just get up the stairs, get some paracetamol, and go to bed. No such luck.

“John? Did you get my paint?”

John groaned to himself as he heard Sherlock come out of their flat and approach the stairs.

“John!” Sherlock was at his side in a flash, lifting his hand and taking his pulse.

“John, what’s wrong? Answer me!” Sherlock demanded.

“‘m fine, just... hurt. Slight concussion.” John answered. He winced as he heard

the slight slur in his words. He knew part of it was just pure exhaustion, as Sherlock had been on a case, and John had been awake for the last 2 days.  

“Right. Come on, let’s get you to the couch.” Sherlock said, putting John’s arm around his neck and heaving him up. John groaned, but did his best to concentrate and lift his legs to get up the stairs. They managed, barely, and when John finally stumbled to the couch, it was a relief to both of them.

 

“Here.” Sherlock said. John opened his eyes and saw two paracetamol and a glass of water being offered. He took it and swallowed the pills gratefully. His body hurt all over. He gave the glass back to Sherlock, and swung his legs over the couch, intending to get up and go to his bedroom.

“Wait, I’ll help you.” Sherlock said suddenly, walking quickly to set the glass down on the table. He came back and gently helped John stand up, catching his elbow when the world tilted on him and he started to crumble. “Come on,” he grunted as he put his arm around John and pulled Johns arm around his shoulders to better support him.

John wasn’t quite sure where the sudden concern had come from, but whatever it was, he was more than grateful for it, as his head wasn’t able to handle thinking in any sane form or fashion at the moment.

John stopped Sherlock when they walked into his bedroom. “Wait, I want to change.” Sherlock sighed, but shuffled him over to the bed so he wouldn’t fall over at least. John winced, but stifled his grunt and went to pull his shirt over his head. A cry escaped his throat, and Sherlock took over with a muttered ‘Idiot’.

He gently tugged the shirt off, one arm at a time, before pulling it over John’s head and throwing it behind him. “Lay back and lift your hips,” he ordered softly. John did so, wondering at the soft atmosphere of the moment. Sherlock pulled off his pants, and then moved away. John relaxed, only to have Sherlock reappear with his pajama pants.

Sherlock helped him put them on and then motioned for him to get into bed. John did so with a sigh, collapsing face first onto the bed, the cool sheets a soothing relief to his aching body. He felt Sherlock crawl in after him and rolled over with a surprised look on his face. Sherlock raised himself up on one arm and stared John with a look on his face that John couldn’t name. Sherlock looked at his bruises, fingers tracing a light path down his face, onto his chest where it trailed the bruises left by the safety belt.

Sherlock pressed a light kiss across them, making sure to paint every last mark with a whisper of a kiss before he pulled John close and let loose with a sigh. John was extremely puzzled by his behavior, and attempted to pull free.

“Sherlock? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Go to sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”

Except John knew that they probably wouldn’t. Sherlock would get bored during the night and leave to do something. But for right now, John would be grateful that he was here, and take advantage of the comfort he offered. With a sigh, he pulled the man closer, wrapping himself around him, and closed his eyes to sleep.


End file.
